


Expensive Tastes (And the Perversion Thereof)

by raphae11e



Category: Scarface (1932)
Genre: (only slightly and it's consensual), Bathroom Sex, Choking, Fingerfucking, Gangsters, Humiliation, Lingerie, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Public Claiming, Semi-Public Sex, Sugar Daddy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Everyone had their secrets. Being part of the mob, theirs were normally more dangerous than most, but this time... this time, things were a little different. Because fancy lingerie was the last vice you'd expect for someone as dangerous as Tony Camonte. Hell, Guino hadn't expected it for himself, either.And yet here they both were. Who was he to deny a little luxury?
Relationships: Antonio "Tony" Camonte/Guino Rinaldo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Expensive Tastes (And the Perversion Thereof)

**Author's Note:**

> Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, and apparently now we've established a pattern and I'm trapped writing gangster porn forever to fuel my need for more content.
> 
> \--Me, to myself, as I was writing this fic
> 
> Anyway hope you guys like some fancy boys wearing fancy undies! ;^)

Guino was used to surprises when it came to Tony. Maybe that meant they weren’t surprises anymore-- but that wasn’t it, not exactly. Tony Camonte wasn’t predictable, at least, not to most people. Guino just wasn’t “most people.” Even then, there were always moments when he couldn’t quite see something coming, wouldn’t brace himself, and it would catch him like a sucker punch straight to the gut. Which, to be honest… wasn’t _always_ a bad thing.

“What is it?” Tony’s scar stretched along with his smile. “There somethin’ on my face?”

Guino stood frozen in the bedroom doorway. It was very, very difficult to keep his eyes firmly glued _to_ said face. “Never heard that one before.” He tried to make it sound sly but the words came out strangled instead, and before he could catch any flak for it, he hurriedly added, “Tony, what. What’re you wearing?”

Of course, he didn’t really need to ask _what_ at all. That much was obvious: they were unmentionables. Lingerie. For women. No brassiere, just the panties, but. Guino didn’t even need to get close to note how detailed the lace was, intricate patterns and sheer, black fabric stretched over olive skin. And Tony was just _standing_ there. Shirt halfway on, tie draped over his shoulders, and he was wearing tights with _garters--_

“You like it, huh?” 

Guino blinked. “I didn’t say nothin’.” 

“Yeah. That’s how I _know_ you like it.” Tony shifted his weight until he was leaning back against his four poster bed, hips cocked, confidence radiating from every inch of him.

Feigning indifference had never been so painful. “I just… didn’t know that you wore this kind of thing. That’s all.”

Tony waved a hand in the air, dismissive. “Not all the time. Was too expensive before. But now…” Flashing another grin, he shrugged his shirt on and got on with the slow process of buttoning it up. Part of Guino-- most of him, more like-- lamented the way those shirttails hid the lingerie from view. Or maybe knowing it was there, even under those layers, added to the appeal instead?

All this thinking was starting to make him feel faint. “How many sets you got now?”

“Aw, babe. You think I’m gonna give away a secret like that?”

_“Tony.”_

“Alright, alright.” Very deliberately, his friend counted out a number on his hands. “Five, maybe?” he said with a shrug. “Dunno. I got more colors’n just this, but I like the black best.”

It would have been all too easy to drop the conversation there, if he’d really wanted to. But both of them knew that wasn’t the case at all-- even as hard as Tony was trying to ignore him, and even as hard as _he_ was trying to look unbothered.

“What…” Guino had to pause to swallow, and flushed at the way it drew Tony’s attention for the briefest of seconds. “What does it feel like?” he asked. “To wear, I mean?”

Tony was onto his slacks now, completely hiding the underthings from sight. He looked thoughtful as he tucked his shirt in and pulled his suspenders taut over his shoulders. “Smooth, I guess,” he said after a moment. “Cause they’re so tightly fitted.” Again, those eyes turned to Guino, pinned him in place. “Feels like they’re barely even there sometimes.”

“I see.” His voice sounded weak even to his own ears. And, before he could stop himself from admitting it, he added, “Must be nice.”

The pause that stretched between them was tense enough to feel palpable. Then, eventually, Guino managed to break free from that hypnotic gaze and turned, nearly on his heel, to walk right out of the room. 

“Hey, where you goin’?”

“Nowhere. Just waiting ‘til you’re ready.”

“C’mon, Guino. You was already doin’ that standin’ over here.”

“I’d rather sit, thanks.”

Of course, even then Guino knew this wouldn’t be the last of this conversation. He’d shown weakness. Willingly, maybe. Just the smallest ounce of it. Nothing could get Tony to change course once he’d sensed that vulnerability, so it was only a matter of time before the topic came up again. And maybe, just maybe, Guino was looking forward to it.

Luckily for him, he didn’t need to wait long. 

No more than a week later, he got back to his flat to find a wrapped box on his dining room table. The scrawled handwriting on its tag was unmistakable: _Something for that shindig we got tonight. Should fit perfect._ All at once, Guino’s heart was in his throat.

Once he’d removed the bow (really, Tony, it didn’t need to be _that_ sappy) and the tissue paper inside, the first thing he saw was the red. A bright shade of it, too, the same as lifeblood. Guino lifted each piece out of the box with careful hands and held them up to the light in turn.

First, the tights. They were sheer in the same way as Tony’s had been, apart from a band around the top that was slightly more opaque. Then there was a brassiere, made with no padding and very little wire, which was a bit different than what he was used to seeing on women. _Probably so it won’t be too conspicuous,_ he realized, his face starting to burn. With it came the garter belt, which had a lace trim covered in tiny flowers. The underwear themselves were the same way, floral-printed and easily see-through, their stitching so detailed that Guino had to squint to make all of it out. 

He didn’t even want to think about how much all this cost. The notion that Tony had spent it on him, though-- now _that_ he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about.

 _Fit perfect,_ the note had said. Guino wasn’t quite sure how that would shake out, but he was more than willing to give it a shot. He had to start getting ready for tonight anyhow.

It was a good thing he had planned ahead; getting everything on took longer than he had realized, what with the straps and clasps and all the rest. To tell the truth, he was kind of baffled as to how women did this every day; it seemed mostly like a hassle. But then, once everything was tucked in place and situated right, he got the chance to look in the mirror.

The whole ensemble looked _nice._ Not made for a fella to wear, sure-- that much was painfully obvious in certain places. But it still framed his body fairly well. He was going to have to get used to the feeling of the garter at his waist, the straps over his shoulders, the tights around his thighs, but… Guino took a slow, deep breath. He didn’t exactly _mind_ that. At all. From the way moving around felt now, he could see what Tony had meant by smooth: apart from the strangeness of it all, he could barely sense the fabric there until he shifted just enough to feel it brush against his skin. 

Distractedly, he checked his watch. He needed to move on. For now, anyway.

Once he was dressed and out the door, the rush to the theater was enough to distract him for a time. Tony was luckily still waiting outside along with a group of about ten or so lackies. In their dark suits and ties, eyeing the rest of the crowd suspiciously, they looked a little bit like a murder of crows. They were quick to part when Guino approached. 

“Well, here he is,” Tony drawled, cigarette between his teeth. “Aimin’ for fashionably late, eh Rinaldo?”

“Yeah, sure.” There was an expectant pause; it wasn’t hard to guess what his friend was waiting for. “I, uh,” Guino said eloquently, “I had to make sure everything fit right.”

Tony was giving him this sidelong stare that looked nonchalant and was anything but. Then he dropped his cigarette and stomped it out, turning to face Guino properly. Hands came up to smooth out his lapels in slow, rhythmic motions. “Looks hot,” Tony said, in a way that sounded appreciative, but playful. It helped to distract from the way his palms slid just a _bit_ too firmly over Guino’s body, as if mapping out what was underneath, before coming to rest at his shoulders. He could feel how the lace against his bare skin stretched along with the movement. 

Then Tony clapped him once on the upper arm and let go, jarring him back to his senses. “Let’s head in. Show’s about to start.”

They had seats in the front row, naturally. You didn’t own half a city under the table and not get perks like that. Tony’d been talking about how much he wanted to see some real theater-- _y’know, somethin’ serious,_ he’d explained-- so here they were at a production of Hamlet. Guino was a bit bemused; neither he nor Tony, nor the rest of their crew most likely, were well-versed in this kind of flowery language. Shakespeare seemed a bit out of their league. 

Much to his surprise though, the first act was easy enough to follow. Guino felt like he could see the appeal of this kind of thing, even if it did require rapt attention-- which, at the moment, was a bit harder to maintain than usual. Hard as he tried, his mind kept drifting back to what was underneath his tux. It felt like no time at all before the lights went up and intermission began.

“This kid gotta pull himself together,” Tony said as they stepped outside. “All this waitin’ around, y’know? Sheesh.”

“Well,” Guino replied, “if he killed his uncle right at the start, there wouldn’t be a play at all.”

Tony made a noise of begrudging agreement as he lit a smoke. Then he offered one to Guino. Standing under the marquis, listening to the chatter of other theater-goers around them, it was a moment before either spoke again.

“How you likin’ it?”

“What, the play? It’s good I guess, but--”

“Nah.” A slow grin spread across Tony’s face. “The gift.”

“Oh.” Well, now Guino had no idea what to say to that. “It’s-- very nice,” he started, aware of how lame it sounded. “Must’ve cost a hell of a lot.”

“Uh huh,” Tony agreed cheerfully. “Worth every penny though.” 

Guino was going to reply with some stupid question-- if Tony even bothered to keep track of the pennies anymore, if he followed up with his lady friends to see if _they_ liked his purchases, too-- but he didn’t get the chance. All of a sudden they were mere inches apart, so close that he could see the embers fall from Tony’s cigarette. It was always hard to ignore the way his friend loomed over him when they were like this, practically breathing each other’s air. Guino had to crane his neck to make eye contact.

“You like more’n just the price though, don’t you?” Tony rested one broad hand right between his shoulder blades. A gentle suggestion, nothing more. “You like how it feels?”

There was no talking around it now. Guino had to avert his eyes when he said it, trying not to melt under the heat of that stare. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I-- More than I thought I would.”

“Told you,” Tony all but purred. “Bet it looks killer.” Guino’s breath caught in his throat as that hand slid lower, down his spine, dangerously close to his ass. The motion pulled the brassiere tight against his chest and set off sparks under his skin. “God,” Tony said abruptly, fingers clenched in the fabric of his suit, “I can’t wait to tear it off you.” 

Something about that cockiness always inspired the same in Guino. He turned his head, just enough to catch Tony’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. Voice tight, he replied, “Don’t you think I should keep it on instead?”

The stress of being so brazen while in public was worth it, if only for Tony’s reaction: he looked like he wanted to eat Guino _alive._ Maybe that would’ve been the end of their night out, too, if it weren’t for an unfortunate intervention.

“Enjoying the show so far, Mr. Camonte?”

In hindsight, the speed at which they wheeled around, hurriedly putting distance between themselves, was probably laughable. But in the moment, it was all Guino could do to calm his racing heart as an older man approached Tony with arm outstretched.

Confidence-- and the art of faking it-- was fortunately Tony’s greatest strength, however. His smile came easily, and he accepted the firm handshake without missing a beat. “Mr. Brannigan,” he replied. “Good seein’ you.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, in the way that most of their secondary contacts did. Trying to puzzle out whether this was a supplier, or a customer, or a fellow distributor was a welcome distraction; it kept him from focusing on how painfully weak-kneed he felt. Like he could sink to the pavement right then and there. 

_Stop,_ he told himself firmly. _Not like that._ God, every aimless thought right now was twisting itself into something obscene. 

Guino was not ashamed to admit that he listened to exactly none of the conversation taking place before him. Soon the play’s second act was ready to begin, and they were forced-- blessedly-- to wrap things up. They all said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

“If that ever happens again,” Guino muttered as they walked back inside, “please just put a bullet in me and end my misery.”

Tony didn’t bother trying to stifle his laugh. “Aw, but the risk is half the fun! You know that.”

“Says you. _I_ keep gettin’ the short end of the stick.”

Quicker than he was able to follow, Tony slung an arm around his waist to pull him close. Lips mere inches from Guino’s ear, he said, “Not for much longer, you won’t.” There was the briefest brush of fingers over his waist (over the garter belt cinched there) and then he was pulling away. 

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was pretty much hell on earth.

Guino thought he had everything under control, at first. Sure, he was more hot under the collar than he had been before intermission, but he also wasn’t standing out in the open any longer. The lights were dim, and everyone was too busy watching the stage to really focus on much else, as long as he kept still. Which, of course, he was dead set on doing; keeping still meant he wouldn’t feel the brush of lace over his thighs, his chest, between his legs. It meant he would be able to leave the theater without embarrassing himself when he went to stand up.

He should’ve known better. Fifteen minutes after they returned to their seats, he felt the feather-light touch of a hand against his thigh. 

Guino closed his eyes for several long seconds, trying to steel himself. It was pretty much a lost cause right from the start; he could feel himself flushing already, and a glance to his left revealed Tony’s splayed fingers over the dark fabric of his slacks. He couldn’t tell if Tony was actually looking at him, but it hardly mattered. The effect was still the same. Guino shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, and forced himself to stare straight ahead.

Things escalated steadily from there as his friend tested his boundaries. A little more pressure, a brief stroke up to his hip and back again. He realized Tony was probably following the length of the garters, moving back and forth between the seam of his panties and tights, exploring every inch that he could. Guino swallowed hard, praying he wasn’t sweating as much as he thought he was.

When he felt the light touch of fingertips against his inner thigh, he realized he had to do something before he lost what little dignity he had left. Gently but firmly, he nudged Tony’s knee with his own and hoped it read as a definitive _stop._

Apparently, it did. After a brief hesitation, the hand retreated and he was left alone. Guino could’ve sworn he still felt eyes on him throughout the whole rest of the play.

Once _Hamlet_ reached its finale-- and it was a bloody one, from what little he had managed to absorb-- Tony wasted no time in standing and pulling Guino up along with him. “C’mon,” he hissed, “we got places to be.” He gave a quick signal to their men, instructing them to wait at the entrance. And then he led the way to the front of the theater, and down a side hall, until they found the door to the ridiculously lavish restrooms.

“Y’know,” Guino said as he followed his friend into a stall, “all this tile is gonna echo.”

Tony just pinned him against the door and kissed him.

It was like something inside of them both had snapped. Hands coming up to cradle that strong jaw, Guino panted into their kiss and arched his back as a hand pressed insistently between his legs and squeezed. Bucking into Tony’s waiting palm was so _easy._ Since the better part of the last two hours had been spent teetering on the very edge of full-blown arousal, it didn’t take much for him to become painfully hard, legs weak with the intensity of it. The confines of his tailored suit were now stifling. 

Maybe Tony was thinking the same thing, because he pulled back just enough to get his hands up to Guino’s chest. From the way his arms suddenly tensed up, it wasn’t hard to figure out what was about to happen.

“Tony,” he warned, “Don’t.” He did _not_ want the hassle of replacing this tux.

He got a glare for his protests, but not much else. Those hands fumbled as they unbuttoned Guino’s jacket, then his vest, then his shirt, yanking all three down and off his arms to pool on the floor. 

A shiver ran through him as cold air hit his overheated skin. Tony whistled. “Looks _real_ good,” he growled. “Better than I imagined.”

“Than you imagined?” Guino repeated, teasing. He gasped as his chest was cupped, calloused fingers brushing over his nipples through the red lace. That was enough to take most of the bite out of him. 

Once again, Tony didn’t reply. His hands slid down over Guino’s bare waist, lingering on the delicate fabric there, until they reached the hem of his slacks. In a surprising show of restraint, he unbuttoned those the same as the others and let them fall to the ground. Then he took a step back.

Guino absolutely refused to look away this time. Watching Tony take everything in felt like a palpable touch, same as back when they’d been in that darkened theater, traveling sinuously down the length of his body. He placed his palms flat against the stall door to steady himself.

“You’re gonna ruin ‘em before I get the chance to.” Tony’s gaze had come to rest just below his waist. He knew he was stretching the panties, precome staining their expensive fabric, and the thought made the pit of his stomach burn hot and bright.

Somewhere in the span of the past few minutes, talking had become _much_ harder. “Well,” he said, “you’d better hurry up then.”

A challenge like that was all it took to get Tony properly riled up. Not that he hadn’t been already; the hot length of his trapped cock was noticeable even through his slacks, especially when they were pressed together once again and a thigh had slotted between Guino’s spread legs. He was only allowed a brief moment to rut against it, mouth open and eyes fluttering, before he was gripped by the waist and spun around. Hot breath washed over his neck as Tony grabbed two handfuls of his ass and squeezed. 

“I ain’t gonna be gentle,” came the snarled warning, lips pressed to his nape. 

“Good,” Guino shot back. “I don’t want you to be.”

An open hand pressed hard between his shoulder blades, forcing his back to arch more as his chest met the door. The other hooked two fingers under his panties and pulled them to the side-- and, without warning, buried themselves knuckle-deep in his hole.

All of the air left Guino’s lungs at once, cheek against the cool stall as he squeezed his eyes shut and saw stars. He’d anticipated a quickie at some point tonight, so fortunately he’d gone through the effort to prepare himself, at least partly. Even so, the burn had his thighs trembling and teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he fought to adjust. His cock, ever the dead giveaway, bobbed against his bare stomach.

“Fuck, you really do love this, huh?” Tony sounded almost dreamy, despite the hard edge to his voice as he thrust his fingers in and out, testing the give of Guino’s body. “I woulda bought you some lacy underthings sooner if I’d known you was this _greedy.”_ He punctuated the sentence with a harsh crook of his fingers, pressing against some hidden place that nearly had Guino sob in pleasure. 

“Y-You, hah, _shit--”_ He could feel the cool metal of Tony’s rings against his ass and silently prayed that they’d leave bruises in their wake. “Y-You like wearin’ ‘em too.”

The laugh he got in response was deep enough to reach his very bones. “Never said I didn’t.” 

Guino didn’t even register that the hand had left his spine until he heard the sound of a zipper being undone. There was a brief pause filled by the sound of fabric over skin; the angle made it hard to see, but he didn’t need to. He could already picture Tony clad in that sleek, jet black lingerie.

He whined in the back of his throat as the fingers inside him flexed one more time and then pulled out. For a moment he was left painfully empty, and then-- the heat of thighs against his own, and of a cock sliding deep into him in one sharp motion.

“F-Fuck--” Oh, they were already moving, each thrust a whole mess of pleasure and pain, his body tensing from it and gripping tight. “God, T- _Tony--”_

Something unintelligible was said in response, but it hardly mattered; Guino wasn’t sure he could’ve made sense of it either way. He couldn’t focus on much beyond pushing back into Tony’s hips, fists clenched tight, legs spread wide as possible to keep himself from collapsing. The bite of his panties’ waistband might be starting to cut into his skin, he noted vaguely. They were going to be stretched beyond repair after this. That thought only made him more dizzy, heat building hot and bright in his gut far faster than he was used to. 

On one particularly hard thrust, Guino tossed his head back, and a few seconds later, he felt a hand snake up his body to close tight around his throat.

“Hope you like walkin’ with a limp,” Tony grated out. His wild grin was audible in every ragged syllable.

Of course, Guino couldn’t have answered, even if he wanted to. Every breath left him in a harsh wheeze, his mouth half open as he tried to get enough air into his lungs. It wasn’t long before spots started to bloom before his eyes, mind growing hazy, but Tony kept squeezing tighter and tighter until--

His body went rigid and he came untouched. Guino’s hips bucked mindlessly as he rode the high, pulse pounding in his ears. He could taste blood now, and realized he’d probably bitten down on his lip in an attempt to keep quiet. Tony, of course, was not at all interested in restraining himself; the loud _slap_ of skin on skin was deafening in the cavernous space. The performative part of sex had always been Tony’s favorite, Guino knew, so it was no surprise when he stilled moments later and warmth suffused Guino’s insides. 

Good thing, too, because he was starting to feel dangerously lightheaded. The grip on his throat was released and he took a long, shuddering inhale that burned something fierce, head falling forward to rest against the door _._ Talking for the next hour or so was going to be a chore. The masochistic side of him was secretly looking forward to that ache.

Seeing as they were in public, and they couldn’t exactly wait around long in a bathroom stall, Tony pulled away sooner than he usually did after sex. Guino found himself missing the warmth almost immediately. It did, however, give him a chance to reach one shaky hand back and… assess the damage, as it were.

“You, ah.” Guino had to work hard to get his voice above a whisper. “You did a number on ‘em, alright.” He could feel at least one tear in the panties from where Tony had pulled them aside to make room for his cock. Come was already leaking out of him, too. Guino bit his swollen lip as he felt his muscles twinge under his fingers.

“I left the rest of it alone, didn’t I?”

He had a point there: the garter belt, brassiere and tights were all intact. Replacing just the one piece wouldn’t be so bad. But still… “I gotta wear these at least until I’m back at my place, Tony,” he complained. He turned around awkwardly, one hand still braced against the door, to give his friend a withering stare. The gripe was half-hearted at best though, and they both knew it. 

“Or mine.”

Guino paused with a wince, halfway through pulling up his slacks. “Huh?”

When he looked up, Tony was watching him with a dangerous glitter in his eye. He cut a fine figure, standing there half-dressed. The lingerie he’d chosen this time depicted a black serpent, carefully embroidered, coiling up and poised to strike. “My place,” Tony clarified after a moment. “You could come up if you want.”

Of course, with Tony, _you could_ almost always meant _you will--_ but frankly, Guino didn’t give a damn. He just smiled, still giddy from the thrill of a good and reckless fuck, and met Tony’s stare head-on. “Sounds like you just want me to try somethin’ else on,” he taunted.

And, to absolutely no one’s surprise, he was right.


End file.
